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THE 'WEEKLY CONSTITUTIONS TUESDAY. MAJRCH II. 1884 TWiiiDYE PAGES.)
OUR “DlXlh” HUMURISTS
THE TVS ASn I'HH.ONOI-IIY OP TUB
OM> HOME.
NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS.*
Ann! Tempy'* •tory.
The little boy observed that Aunt Tempy
yras Tery much Intereeted in Daddy Jack's
story. Sbe made no remarks while the old
African was telling it, but sbe was busily en
gaged in measuring imaginary quilt patterns
on her apron with her thumb and forefinger,
a sure sign that her Interest had been aroused.
When Daddy Jack had concluded—when,
with a swift, sweeping gesture of his wrinkled
hand, he cut the cord and allowed Brother
Wolf to perish ignorainlously—Aunt Tempy
drew a long breath, and said:
•• *Dat ar tale come 'cross me des like a
dream. Hit put me In mine er one w’at I
year w’en I wua little bit er gal 1 hook like I
kin see nijae'f right now, settin’ flat down on
deh'ath lis'nln’ »t ole Unk Monk. You
know’d ole link Monk, Brer ltemua. You
bleeze Ur know’d 'im. Updarin Ferglnny.
I 'clar* ter goodness, it make me feel right
foolish. Brer llemus, I des know you know'd
Unk Monk."
For the first time in many a day the little
boy saw Uncle Remus in a serious mood. He
leaned forward In his chair, shook his head
sadly, as he gazyd into the fire.
"Alt, Lord, Bis Tempy!” he exclaimed sor
rowfully, “don't less we all go foolin’ ronn'
mungs dem o!e times. De bea’ kinder bread
gits sour. Wat's yistiddy wld us wua 'to'de
wort’ begun wld dish yer chile. Dat’a de way
I looks at It" i
“Dal's de Lord’s trufe,' Brer Remus," ex
claimed Aunt Tempy with unction, “an I
mighty glad you call me ter myse’f. Little
mo’ un I’d er sot right yer un 'a' gone 1 may
beck to Ferglnny, un all on 'oountei; dat ar
tale w’at I year long floe ago."
"What tale was that. Aunt Tempy?"asked
the little boy.
■'Eh-eb. honey!" replied Aunt Tempy,with
a display of genuine bssbfulness; “eb-eb; I
'fraioyou all 'll aetupdar un laugh me outer
de bouse. I aint dast ter tell no tale 'long
aide Brer Remus un Daddy Jack yer. 1 'frald
I git it all mix up. 1 ' ,
The child manifested such genuine disap
pointment that Aunt Tempy relented a little.
“Kf you all laugh, now,” she said, with a
threatening air, “I'm des gwine ter pick up
en git right out er dish yer place. Dey aint
ter be no laughin', kaie de tale w'at I year
in Ferglnny aint no laughin’ tale."
With
like he cryin’. He des fa'rly boo-hoo d, un
he say. sesee: , , ,
“ ‘Dar now, Brer Fox! I des know d date;
I put my po' little cbilduns in dar wid yo’
folks dey’d git e’t up. I des know'd It!’
"Ole Miss Fox, sbe des yow she aint totch
Brer Rabbit fammerly. But Brer Fox, he
bin wantin' a piece un um ail de way, un he
begrudge um so dat be git mighty mad wid he
ole 'oman un de childuns, un be say. sesee:
" ‘You kin des make de most er dat, ksse
I’m a gwine ter bid you good riddance dls
ve’v day;’ un, sho’ 'nuff, Brer Fox tuck'n
tuck be whole fammerly ter town un trade
um off fer co’n.
“Brer Rabbit was wld 'em, des es big ez
life un twice ez naichnl. Dey start back, dey
did, nn w'en dey git four er fiye mile out er
town, bit come 'cross Brer Fox min' dat he
done come away un lef apluger terbackerin
de eto', en he say he bleeze ter go back atter
it.
“Brer Rabbit, be say, sezee, dat lie’ll slay
en take keer er dewaggin, w’lle Brer Fox kin
run back nn git be terbacker. Soon ez Brer
Fox git out er sight, Brer Rabbit laid de hoe-
ses under lino un lash un drove de waggin
home, un put de hosses In he own stable, un
de co'n in de smoke-house, un de wagginln
de barn, un den he put some co'n in he
pocket, un cut de hossee tails o ff, un went
beck up de road twel he come ter » qung-
mire, un in dat he stick de tails un wait fer
Brer Fox. ,
"Atter w'iie yer he come, un den Brer Rah
bit gun ter holler un pull at de mils. He
Rabbit
ued Aunt
laughing,
With this understanding Aunt Tempy ad
justed her bcad-handkerohief, looked around
rather sheepishly, as Untie ltemua declared
afterwards in confidence to the little boy,
“Wen , in de times w’en Brer Rabbit
un Brer Fox live In de same settlement wid
one er n'er, de season’s tuck'n come wrong.
De wedder got hot un den a long dry drouth
sot in, un it seem like dat de natal leaf on de
trees wuz gwine ter lu'n ter powder."
Aunt Tempy emphasized her statements by
little backward and forward movements of
her bead, nnd the boy would have laughed,
but a warning glance from Uncle Remus pre
vented him.
“De loaf on do trees look like dey gwine ter
tu'n ter powder, un do groun’ look llko it
dono bin cookt. All do truck w’at do cree-
1 turs plant wuz all parched up, un doy wa'n’t
no crops made nowhars. Dey dunner w'at
ter do. Dey run dis away, dey run dat away;
ylt w’en dey quit runnln. doy dunner wlmr
tley bread cornin' frun. Dls do way it look
ter Brer Fox, un so one day w’en ho got a
mighty hankerin’ atter Bumpin' sorter Joosy,
he meet Brtr Rabbit In de lane, un ho ax um,
aezee:
“ 'Brer Rabbit, whar'bouta our bread corn
in’ frunf , .
"Brer Rabbit, ho bow, he did, un answer,
11 'Look like it luought bo cornin’ frun
nowliar,’sc/.i'c.”
"You seo dat, honey!" exclaimed Uncle
Remus, condescending to give the story the
benefit of his patronage: "Y'ouseo dntl Brer
Rabbit wuz alius a-wnltin’ u chanco fer ter
crack be Jokes."
"Yes, Lordl" Aunt Tempy continued,with
considerable more animation; "he joke, un
joke, but blmeby, be aint feel like no mo'
jokin', un den lie up’n say, sesee, dat him
un Brer Fox better start out’n take der fam-
merltrs wid um ter town un swap um o!T for
some fresh-rroun’ meal; un Brer Fox say,
aezee, dat dat look mighty fa'r and squar', un
den uey tuck'n makede'greomenls.
"Brer Fox wuz ter s'ply de waggin un
team, un he promise dal be gwine ler ketch
he fammerly un lie um hbrd un fast wid s
red twine string. Brer Babbit be say, aexsa,
dat he gwine ter ketch be fammerly un tie
um all, un meet Brer Fox at de fork er de
"Sho' nuflT, soon in de rnawnin’, w'en Brer
Fox draw up wid he waggin, he holler 'Wol'
un llrer Rabbit be tuck'n holler back, 'Wo
J o'se’f I’ un den Brer Fox know dey 'us all
ar. Brer Fox, he tuck’n sot upon de seat,
un all er he fammerly, dey wuz a-layln' un
der de seat. Brer Rabbit, be tuck'n put all
he fammerly in de beblme een' er de waggin’
un he say, sezee, dal he speck he better set
back dar twel dey gltaorter uecn ter dey sur-
rounderlings, un den Brer Fox crack he
whip, un off dey went toze town. Brer Fox,
he holler ev'y once In a w'iie, sesee:
" ‘No noddin' back dar, Brer Rabbit!
“Brer Rabbit be boiler back, sezee:
" 'Brer Fox, you inlaa de ruts en de rocks,
un I'll mlae de noddin'.’
“But all dat time, bless yo' soul! Brer Rab
bit wuz settin dar ontyin’ he ale'oman un he
chlldun, w'ich dey wuz sev'm uy um. W'en
he git um all ontie, Brer Rabbit, he tuck'n
h'latbiase’f on de seat'long er Brer Fox, un
dey sot dar un talk un laugh 'bout de all
sorts er times dey gwine ter have w’en dey
git de co'n meal. Brer Fox sea, aezee, be
gwiue ter bake hoeeake; Brer ltabbtt aez,
sezee, he gwine ter make ashcakc.
"Dee 'bout dis time one er Brer Rabbit's
childun raise hlsse'f up euy un bop out de
waggin. Min Fox, sue slog out:
" 'One Iran sev'm
Don't leave 'lev'm.'
"Brtr Fox hunch be ole 'oman wid he foot
fer ter make'er keep still, Bimeby'n'er lit
tle Rabbit pop up un hop out, Mias Fox
say, se'sbe:
" ‘One frun six
Leaves me leu kicks,'
"Brer Fox go on talkin' ter Brer Rsbb|t,un
Brer Rabbit go on ta.kin'ter Brer Fox, un
'twa'n'l so mighty long 'fo* all Brer Rabbit
fammerly dims pop up un dive out de wag-
giu, un ey'y time one 'udgo Miss Foxsbs’ud
fit it like she did de yuthers.”
“What did she say, Aunt Tempy?" asked
the little boy, who was Interested in the
rhymes.
*'TWa Isa mm at —ass...
•••Oo* Iran one.
Until done zone. 1 "
"What did Brother Rabbit do then?" In
quired the Uttle boy.
"Better ax w'at Brer Fox do,” replied Aunt
Tempy.ideased wiih the eflect of her rhymes.
"Brer Fox look 'roun' atter w'iie un w'en
be see dat all Brer Rabbit fammerly done
cone, he leaa back un boiler ‘Wo!’ un den
he uy, aezee:
'“Indenameer goodness, Brer Rabbit!
whs.-all yo' folks? 1
"Brer Rabbit look'roun'. un den he nyke
‘Run yer, Brer Fox! run ye-! Youer des
in time of you aint too late, ltmi yer, Brer
Foxl ran yeri'
"Brer Fox, he run'd en jak II
away, unsay,sezee:
‘"Git out de way, Brer R tbbii!
little! Gil outde way, un let a n
bolt.’
"Brer Fox tuck holt,” cm.tin
Tempy, endeavoring to keep li im
"nn he fetch'd one big puli, un I let you
know dat uz de onliest pull-bo make, kaze do
tails come out ue he tu’n a back summerset.
He Jump up, be did, en 'gun ter grabble in de
quog-mire des ez hard ez be kin.
"Brer Babbit, he titan’ by, un drop some
co'n inonbeknowns’ter Brer Fox, un dis
make 'im grabble wtiss un wuss, un be grab
ble so bard un be grabble so long dot 'tw.i'n’t
long 'fo' be fall down dead, un so dat uz de
las* er ole Brer Fox in dat doy un time."
As Ann' Tempy paused, Uncle Remus ad
justed his spectacles nnd looked at her ad
miringly. Then he laughed heartily.
"Ideclar’, Sis Tempy," bo said, after a
while, "you gives tongue same «z a lawyer.
Y'ou’ll hatter jine in wid us some mo . 1
Aunt Tempy closed her eyes and dropped
her head on ono side.
“Don't git me storied, Brer Remus," she
said, after a pause; "kazeef you does you’ll
batter set up yer long pus' yo' bed-timo."
"I b'leeve you, 81sTempy, dat I does!" ex
claimed the old man, with the air of one who
has msde a pleasing discovery.
< opytlghtjfeta^ , 1TBE ynu.Txar.")
BILL ARPS LETTER.
He Talks of She Time When his Fallier
wns Postmaster nnd lie was Mail Rider.
Two cents—only two cents. When I look
st a postage stamp it carries me awsy back,
Back to the time when my father was post'
master and I was his clerk, and had to make
up the mails in a country town. The differ
ence between now and then shows the world's
progress in a privilege and a pleasure that
hardly excelled iu any other branch of Ini'
provement. We couldent bear to be set back
again in that line to the old ways that onr
fathers thought wero pretty good. There were
no stamps and no envelopes, and no mucilage,
The paper was folded up liko a thumb-paper,
and one aido slipped In the other and sealed
with a wrapper. The llttlo school boys, you
know, had to use thumb-papers In their
spelling hooks to keep them clean where their
dirty thumbs kept the pages open. Girls
dident hnvo to use them, for tboywero nicer
and kept their hands clean, nnd dident wear
oat tbo leaves by tbo friction of their finger*.
Boys are rough things any how, and I don'
see wlist a nl.'o, sweet, clean, pretty girl
wants with one of ’em, Girls they say are
made of sugar and spice and all' that's nice,
but boys are made of snaps nnd snails and
puppy dogs tails. Josephus stys, that when
the queen of Sheba was testing Soiomon’i
wisdom, sho had fifty boys and fifty girls all
dressed alike In girls' clothes and seated
around a big room, and asked the king to
pick: out the hoys from the girls, and ho called
for a basin of water and had it carried around
to caeli ono and told them to wash their
hands. The girls all rolled up their sleevea a
little bit, but tlie boys just sloshed their
hands in any way and got water ail over their
aprons, end so the king spotted every mother's
son of ’em.
The postage used to be regulated by the dis
tance that Uuncls Sam carried tho letters.
It was 1 JJ» cents anywhere in the state, and
1831 cents to Charleston, and 25 cents to New
York. It was never prepaid. A man could
allllct another with a plstaresn letter that
wasent worth five cents. A pistarcen, yon
know, was 18?* cents—that is a seven pence
and a thrip. We had no dimes or half dimes.
The dollar was cut up into eights instead of
tenths. When a countryman called for let
ters and got one he would look at it some
time and turn it over and meditate before ha
paid tor it, and very often they would say,
“where did this letter come from." Weil, 1
would say for instance, "it come from Dab-
lonega—dout you tee llihloncga written up
on the corner?" Then he would say, "well,
1 reckon it's front Dick, my brother Dick.
He is ap there digging gold, boat you reckon
it's from Dick?™ *T reckon it Is,” said I.
“Why dont you open Hand see?” "No, I'll
wait until I get home. Tney'll all want to
•ee it." When he got home that letter would
be an event in the family, and perhapi it
would take them a half an hour to wade
through it and make out its contents. Nine out
uf ten of thoee country letters began, "I take
my pea in hand to let you know that I aui
well, and hope Iheea few linee will find you
enjoying the same blessing.” My father kept
store and bis country customers used to ask
him to write their letters for them, and be
always sent them to me, and most of them
told me to begin their letters that way.
There waa not more than one in live could
write, but they were good, clever, honest peo
ple and paid their debts, but they hardly ever
pud up in full at the eud of the year, and so
needles, or get me to take along some socks
and sell them, and so I made friends and ac
quaintances all the way. The first trip. I
made, an old woman hailed me and said,
"Are you o mail boy?" “Why, yes, jnam,”
said I,” "yon dident think I was a female
boy, did you?" I thought, that was mighty
smart, but it wasent very civil and it made
her so mad abe never told me what she
wanted, and as she turned her btek on me I
heard her say, "I'll bet he is a little stack up
town boy."
My father was postmaster for nearly thirty
years. It didn't pay more than about $200
a year, but it made nis store more of a public
E iace. He didn't know that anybody else
sukered after it or was trying to get it, but
all of a sudden he got bis orders to tarn oyer
theofllce to another man, an old line whig
and a competitor in buslnese. It mortified
him very much and made ns all mad, for
there was uo fault found with hie manage
ment, and he never took much interest in
polities but voted for the man he liked
the best whether he was a whig or a demo
crat. When he found out that A let Stephens
had it done he wasent a Stephens man any
more, and I grew up with an idea that Mr.
Stephens was a political fraud. I dident un
derstand tho science of politics as well as I
do now. I told Mr. Stephens about it ono
night at Uilledgcville when we were all in a
good humor anu were talking about the old
times of wblgs and democrats, and he smiled
and said, "yes, we had to do those thingsand
sometimes they were very disagreeable." I
will never forget that night's talk. It was
daring the session of tho first legislaturesfter
the war. Jim Waddell took me to Mr. Ste-
£ bens' room to hear him talk, and there was
!r. Jenkins and Tom Hardeman and Ban
ning Moore and Beverly Thornton and Pete
SlruzierundDr. Ridley and some others, and
everybody waa in a good humor, and Mr. Ste
phens was reclining on his bed and told an
ecdote sfter anecdoie about the old whigs
and how he met the democrataon the stump
and what they said and what be said and how
he most always got the advantage and car
ried the crowd ivltb.bini. I waa very mnch
fascinated with blsjconveraation, but couldent
help being reminded of a circumstance that
transpired some years before in the town of
Calhoun. The whigs of Gordon county had
sent for Mr. Stephens to come up and make
a speech and rally tht|soys for the next elec
tion, for Gordon was pretty tqually balanced
between whigs and democrats, and the whigs
wanted a big revival. So Alek accepted, and
when the day came the crowd was tremend
ous. The democrats had tried to get Howell
Cobb and Herschel Johnson and Absolom
Chappet and others to como up, but they all
had other fish to fry, and so litr'- ‘ '-*- *-■■*
it till his own way. wen no, caauny Cl Li. u,,
for there was a feller there by the name of
Russell, an eccentric, smart, cheeky,(random
sort of a man who had a wonderful gift of
language and who, lice Francis Train,dident
care much what liesaid, and was no respeotor
ot persons. Russell sworo by all tbo gods
that If nobody else would reply to Stephens
be would, and he would skin him alive, and
let him ride home in his bone3. “Condlng
him,” said he, "let him slay in his own dis
trict and shinny on his own side.”
Mr. Stephens made a fine speech, and the
crowd cheered and shouted tumul
tuously as lie arraigned the democracy and
and held them up to ridicule, and when he
got through tlie whigs were more than satis
Ued, amt Mr. Stephens was'satisfied, too—he
came down from the stand and wss receiving
the congratulations of his friends, when sud
denly Russell mounted the rostrum and, rap
ping on the plank In front of bias, screamed
out in one unearthly yell: “Fellow cltizensl”
Everybody knew him, and everybody wanted
to bear biro, and hushed into silence. After
n sentence or two Mr. Stephens was attracted
to him, and with cartons amt astonished in
terest, inquired, "Whois that man?" After
Rnssell bad paid an eloqaent tribute to the
glorious old democratic party, and given it
credit for every good thing that had been
done since the fall ot Adam, be then turned
to Mr. Stephens and, with a wltberiug scorn,
said: "And what have you and your party
been doing and trying to do?—what made
you vote away the publio lands so that jnn-
keea and lurr ners could get 'em nnd our peo
ple couldent? What made you vqtolor a high
tariff Ms sugar and cofftfl and raiso the price
so that our poor peoplo couldent buy it?" Mr.
Stephens roso up excited and irritated, and
stretching his long arm to the andtence,
screamed out: "I never did it, my fellow-
citizens—I deny the fact and cell upon the
gentleman for his proof," With the utmost
self-possession, Russell said, "You do—you
call for tho proof. Sir, if was to go two miles
from home to make a speech I would carry
uty proof with me. I wouldent b« vatu
enough lo go without It; but, sir, I am at
home—these people know me—they raised
me end when 1 assert a thing they believe it.
You ere tho man to bring tho proof.” The
crowd shouted and laugued ns tumultuously
as they bed done for Mr. Stephens, end be
satdilwn disgusted, Russell continued: "And
what was your motive when you were a
member ot the legislature in voting for u law
that prohibited a man from voting unless he
wss worth $300? Answer me that while you
are here face to face with these humble citi
zens of Gordon county.” At this Mr. Steph
ens rose sgalu furious with imt gaatlon and
screamed: "U la false, sir—it la tales; I do ay
the fact,”
"You do," laid Russell, icornfully; I sup
posed you would—you deny the fact. That
Is just what you have been doing for twenty
yean—going about over the country denying
facts." And the crowd went wild with
merriment, for even the whigs couldent help
jolulng In the fun, Mr. Stephens turned to
nis companions and said with a tone of des
pair, "Let ns go to the hotel,” and they
went.
I thought of all this while Mr. Stephens
was telling us of bis triumphs over veteran
foes, and so when he came to a panse I timid
ly aatd; “Mr. Stephens, did you ever encoun
ter a man by the name of Russell up at Cal
houn?”
With a merry glisten of bis wonderful eyes
he strenzthened up and said: "I did, I did,
yes, I did. I will never forget that man. He
got me completely. If I had known him I
would not have said a word tn reply, but I
dident know him. He cured me of one ex
pression. I frequently used to emphasize my
denial of lies and slander, and that was to
say “I deny the fact" "I had never thought
ot It's grammatical absurdity, but that man
Russell taught me and I quit it. I think be
had the moot wonderful plan o! language and
liea of auy man I ever met.” Mr. Stephens
then made a pretty fair recital of his recoun
ter and bis “utter defeat” as be expressed it,
allot which we enjoyed. Where are they now?
Old father time has cut them all down but three
Hardeman and Thornton and myself are
here, but all,the rest of that bright, intelligent
crowd are gone. It looks tike moat everybody
is dead. If they are not they will be before
long, and another set will be in their place*
and bare their jokes and tlaah their wit and
merriment all the same. Bill Aar.
BETSY HAMILTON’S LETTERS.
vt.
Sunday Evenin’ as Onr House.
Lazy Farm, 18SL—What can be mors en
joyable than the gathering ot congenial
friends around a cheerful, comfortable wood
fire on a cold winter night? Again we are
in grandma's room. Willis and Mattie are
absorbed in a game of chess, in which Msttie
is about to be check-msted. Cliff and Fan
nie are scuffling over a picture; it
Is Friadsy night and the children
have come in, and are begging to bear Conain
Betsy's letter. The game is ended, the house
is brought to order and we read of
SUNDAY ZVXKISO AT OCX UOUSk.
Dear Cousin: One Bunday evenin' list
summer It wss turrible hot—yon could se*
the Uttle Freahoon chillun ketcliin June
bugs awar over in the apple archard, bear
headed in the brilin' hot inn—and the blood
peared like it wou'JJpop out'n ther facet. If
trie Alek had
Well not exactly either,
their mark. My father used to ssy that
he had known cases where a man swore off
hts written aigaatare, but he never knew a
man to deny hta mark. Onr big northern
mail used to corns in a stage from Madison
twice a week, and 1 used to think the soand
of the stags horse as the stage came over the
hilt waa one of the snblimeet things in the
world, and I thought that if I ever got to be
a man I would be a stage driver if I conld.
Well, I come pretty near It, for my father had
hired a man to ride the mail to Roswell and
back twice a week, and the man got sick and
so my father pul me on a dromedary ot a
horse and the mail in some raddle-bags be
hind me, and I had to make the 48 mile* in a
day and kept it up all winter. 1 liked to
hare frose several times, and had to be tiffed
off the hone when 1 got borne and it nearly
broke my mother's heart, but I was getting a
dollar a trip and it was my money, and so I
wouldent back out. The old woman on the
root* used to crowd me with thtlr little com
missions and get me to bring them a little pep
per, or copperas, or blnug, or pins and
we'nns wan Is to go any whara otter dinner of
a Sunday wc has to huff it to gtt ready and
git off fore anybody comes, for Sunday is the
main day for visltin in this settlement.
We'nns wss a aimm that erenin to get off to
the tingin'. A man, a stranger in the settle
ment, was a teacbln’ the “far so Iara and do
ray mees" up tbar at the school 'ouse, and
we all was een a mat crazy to go and tarn
"bow to note” as Jim Wiggins calls it.
We wasn't a lookin’ for nobody that eve
nin’ but pears like thata the very time you
are a gwine to have compiny. Maw lows
jes let her say she haint a lookin for nobody
of a Sunday, and not comb her head and not
take off her old cookin’ frock and not red up
the house gooi as common, and above all, let
her lay down and try to go to sleep if yon
want a house toll to come in; as A unt Nancy
says: “The pleasure of some folks 'pears to
'pend on the mizry and ilcouvenieuce of
totbers.” Sometimes I wish we’uns could do
like town folks, lock the doors and say we
haint at home. Well, that Sunday maw she
had jes layed down, when in stepped old Miss
Green and old Miss Fresnours, and atter that
fust one and then tother drapt in tel ther
wasn't cheers to seat ’em, and pap he had to
fetch the old rickety benchout'n the kitchen.
Caiedony and Malindy Jane and Treasy Ann
and Ann Ellizy Becky Haskinsand even to
Dash Williamson, all stopped in on the way
to the Bingln, and the shed was spang fall of
gals, so thick me and Flurridy Tennysy
couldn’t skaccly tarn around to fix. I didn’t
keer so much fur laruiu to sing, but I knowed
in reason Cap Dewbery or Iky Roberson or
some of the bovs would ax me for my com
pany home. Nobody over tbar hadn’t saw
my new Sunday-go-to-meetin' pink calico
frock trimmed in white domestic bios folds,
and I knowed in reason it would take ther
eya, bekaze it was made right dab in the town
fashion, two narrer ruffles on the tail and the
overskirt hiked up to one side, I hadn't wore
It but ouce't and that was the Sunday Cap
Dewberry stopped in here out'n the rain, and
be lowed I looked as pretty os a hollyhock.
It was a gittin late so I hurried and diked
myself out as quick as I could. I greased
my hair as slick asaribhin, with bog fat—I
fried the meat and got it—and scented it with
this here sweet basil comes out’n the garden
I’d rather smell it os ciunamln drsps or pep-
perment airy one. I pinned the tip eend of
my handkercher under my belt and let tother
part hong down at my side. My belt was slick
patent leather, with a big shiny steel hackle
on it, and ther wasn’t sich another'n this sido
of Talladegy town. I grabbed up my little
piece of broke lookin' glass ofFn the shelf in
a hurry and dabbed some flour on my face,
I was spang out'n akin powders, when buddy
lowed yonder comes some of the boys. I had
on my new Sunday shoes; pap he gin a dol
isr and a quarter fur ’em, Jewed the man t
quarter ou ern' and he lowed he'd take it but
h jtouldu’tdo t ornobidye'.se.andltsllyoun
they shined and screeched • too—you conld
besr ’em spang to the spring’ouse. I made
shorn it was Iky or Cap, one or tother, so I bit
my lips and pinched my cheeks and stepped
out iu the entry, and who should it bo bat
that big headed pop eyed Tom Davis. I had
sot my foot down agin ever gwine any whars
longer him. so I retched my head back in the
door and told the gats I wasn't a gwine to the
singin’, and I seed Treasy Ann wink at Becky
like abe thought I jes wanted to stay home
longer Tom. "Thar now” says Flurridy, “my
Sunday coat is in the lolt and I can’t git it
tell that ar thing goes home for he is a settin’
right.fernent tbeladder.” Pap hadgln him a
cheer right agin the tedder tuat retched uo
in the loft. The gtla all got ’em some water
and went on to the singin'.
I jes wish yon conld have saw Tom Davis.
Him and his Sunday clothes didn’t pear to be
acquainted; they sot out sorter stiff from
THE HOME OF DAVIS.
Tb» Grounds and the Mansion BemindineOne or Old
Times-How the Greet Southern Losdff Passes
Hie Time-Pictures end Brlc-s-Brac of
the Home-The Outgoing Tide.
BiijUBiuvcu, luojr out uub DuriCT ouu uuui
him like him and them wasn't used to one
another. Hts coperas jeens pantaloons was
too short and too big In the legs and his white
home-knit socks bung in wrinkles over his
brogan shoes, and his bine cotton coat looked
like It had been cut for his daddy. His
speckled calico shirt was so atlffltrattled ever
time ho moved and his white paper collar rid
high on his heck and tried to saw his years in
tarn. Ho was ;turrible proud of his red and
whito check choke rag, kep a tyln of it, and
ontyin’ of it to make me notice it, and he
was as restless as a bona In fly time; chawed
up his ridin’ switch and spit It all over maw's
clean scoared floor and kep a shiftin' of his
feat swaupin fof ’em fast one side and then
tother like his corns hurt him and which I
I know in reason they did, bekaso his shoes
was so tight he couldn't skasely sbet hts eyes.
His hair was crapped to the skin of his head,
and his foes shaved so eloat it was bleedin
and as slick as sail sosp could make it. But
bo thinks he is powerful pretty and that
what be don’t know has been tore out'n the
books; but its jes liko Caiedony says, “ig-
nant folks has got the least sense of any/’
Atter me and him howdye’d hta face turned
mighty red, end he giggled. I didn't see
nothin to laugh at He ran both hands down
in his breeches prekets and stretched his legs
out straight and sorter rarred his cheer back
and lowed: “Will you incept ot the—ot ar
rar, my company to the singin’?" and giggled
and (grinned agin, and chawed his ridin
switch. “I’m not a gwine,” says I. "Haint
you? Waal, if you don't go I haint a gwine
nutber,” says he, hitenenhts cheer cloater to
mine. "Guess what I fetched you," says he,
lllttin a llttlo cloater and grinning like a
baked possum. I was so mad I never said
nothin. "Guess,” says he, "can't yon guess?"
“Idon't know,"says I.,"I'>s mighty sweet,”
a«y* he, “but It haint nigh as sweet as yon
atr. I got lumpen to tell you.”
“Is you?” says I. “Fra akeered to tell
you—feared you won't believe it,” says he.
' What’s that ar you fetched ms?” says f.
HRs monstrous putty, but it haint nigh
as putty as you atr,” says he. >' What Is It?"
says I. "Hits powerful good but it haint
nigb as good as yon air, says he. “Well”
says I, "what on, the yeth can it be?" "I love
it a power," lays he "bat not nigh like I
love you," says he, hitchin bis cheer cloater
and a drawin of a little red Jane apple oat’n
pocket bandin it to me.
"Leu bust it and count the seeds,”
uya he, “yon bite it fast and sweeten it,
then leume bite.” I taken a little bit of a
bite, then he fetched a big horse bite plum
to the core and drapt the seeds in hts hand,
and let in to countiu of ’em. "One I love,
two I love,! three I lor* I ssy, four I love
with all my heart and—” "You Flurridy
Tenuysy Hamilton,” says mtw, "ef you aim
to go to that sr singin its high time you wu
off”
Fluridy whined back half cryin," I can't
I o tel I git my Sunday coat out’n the loft.
wan't to git by tbar to git It but that fool’s
a settin' right thar;ferment the ladder—he
keep* a settin thar and a settin tbar; I dunno
what big sis wants with that fool arjeettln’ up
thar a courtin' er her for; I wished he’d
g'long home I do, and stay thar when be gits
thar.” “Good evenin' squire" says pan to
Bqtre Robeson, “Come bore Betsy and (etch
the squire a cheer.” I rig in a hurry and gin
him my cheer, glad of a chanoe to gtt away
from Tom Davis. Tom he rix and towed
"I’ll come back agin next Sunday, Mies
Betsy, if I live and lock well and nothin
happens to hender me—" and I seed he
wasn’t no way sot back by what Flurridy
hadjsaid.
1 must close, fur my taller candle bos
blinked and blinked smack down to the
socket. Betsy Hamilton.
“Go to bed now," said grandma, to the
children “and to-morrow 1'R tell yon about a
bean ot min when I wua girl.” "Oh;t*ll|ua
now, please," cried all at once, but the fire bad
lud burnt low between the big bra* andi
rons, and it wu time to uy good night.
[Next week, “Casmsu OrT/'J
Dtatci BmlU by ike l»eke« Jirtri.
xtowHi Pa.i Mofch 5.—Suit* lor criminal
libel have been entered agalnil the editors of the
RetmbllcAn Standard by H. H. Acklin and Lair*
r5cSKuotti, member* of the jury which acquitted
Hakes. The alleged libel appured In the issues
ot lhat paper, tn March last, tad conilsitd In
great part of the head Uses on articles written on
From the Nashville World.
Beauvoir, the home of Jefferson Davis, is a
part of the property which was bequeathed to
him by the late Mrs. Sarah A. Dorsay. Her
relatives attempted to set aside the will, but
the supreme court recently confirmed the de
cisions of the lower courts in his favor.
It is situated on the gulf coast in Mississippi,
between Biloxi and Mississippi City. Near
by are the campgrounds where the Methodists
hold their annual summer meetings.
The house is an old southern mansion, such
as is quite common in this section. Its wide
halls and many galleries speak of antc-bel
lum days, of the olden time when wealth and
luxury here were the common lot of all,
The business men of New Orleans and Mo
bile flocked from the croweded cities
in summer to their sea-shore homes, and
whiled away the heated term in luxurious
rest.
The professional man found recreation
from his labors in fishing and*hunting, and
rest for his wearied frame iu the ham
mocks on the piazzas or beneath the. shade
trees,
The air in this clime is so soft, that except
for shelter from occasional rains, man needs
not the cover of houses.
Beauvoir mansion stands something less
than one hundred yards from the blue wa
ters of the gulf. It rests upon brick pillars
twelve feet nigh. Broad steps reach from
the ground up to the wide front gallery,
which is the entire length of the building,
Other narrow porches join at each end, ex-
tending around the house. The entire struc
ture is of wood. The main entrance ii
through a vast hall, whose high frescoed ceil
fog is now dim from age. To the right are
two spacious bed chambers opening into the
hall, and separated from each other by large
sliding doors. The windows extend to the
floor, and furnish easy egress to the galleries.
On the left of the hall are parlors, and a li
brary furnished with easy cnairs nnd sofas.
Around the walls hang fine old oil paintings,
and attractive ornaments adorn the tables
and mantels. The book-cases contain a wealth
of literature seldom seen in a private library,
Many of these things were the property ot Mr.
Dorsay, and included iu the bequests sbe
msde Mr, Davis.
In the wide, airy hall are divans and
lounges, upholstered in chinlz by Mrs. Davis's
own hands. On the walls hang her paintings
and those of her daughter.
Aronnd on every side are curions relics of
other days and other lands.
Beyond the hall to the left Is an ell contain,
lng the bed chambers, with large windows
and doors opening upon the latticed porches.
Across an intervening court opposite is the
dining room, with its wealth of ola silver and
glass, picturea and ornaments.
Iu the yard towards the front of the house
are two pavilions of two rooms each. The
one on the left is furnished as bed rooms for
guests. The other, on the right, is Mr, Davis'
study. The latter is modestly furnished
with a lounge, tables and chairs
and contains qnite a library. Here
the great man spends mnch of hts time in
reading and writing. A small room adjoin,
ing is his daughter’s boudoir, containing
msny little articles denoting a woman’s oc
cupancy. The window opens on a small gar
den of rare and beautiful tropical flowers.
The yard Is a very large one. The plank
fence cannot be seen from the house, except
where It passes In front, near the gulf.
A few orange trees are scattered in the
garden and yard. The stately pines, oaks
and elms stand aronnd in forest-llke grandeur.
From their branches wave the festoons of
gray moss. Again, it hangs in graceful pen.
dints, or Interlaces the pine cones and green
foliage of the trees.
tn the rear of the house, on the left, m
be seen tho cottage occupied by Robert
Brown, Mr.' Davis’ body-servant, who still
follows as be ever bos done, bis master’s for
tunes. It was he who took care of the chll,
dren and carried thorn to Canada when Mrs.
Davis followed her husband to a prisoner’s
cell. He is a dark mulatto with a mixture
of Indian blood. His hair is long and nearly
straight, and now quite gray. Hts bearing is
that of a poll«hed gentleman.
There is another not lees faithful friend,
though he is a dumb brute and said to be
without a soul. It Is Traveler, a great New.
foundland dog.
Lord Byron pronounces a dog the most
disinterested Diend of man. Perhaps he was
right.
Traveler is the constant attendant either uf
Mr. aod Mrs. Davis. When not with one he
Is surely to be found near the other.
Ho welcomes the stranger with glad dem.
onstrations, and taking bis haod gently in
his great mouth, leads him up the steps into
the House. He stretchy himself on the rag
at his master's feet whenever
there are guests in the parlor;
he walks with the family and blends to the
dining room and soberly seats himself near
the hearth until the meal is finished. He
remains quiet until his kind and good
thoughtful master fills a plate with food and
tells him to speak if he is hungry. A wag of
his tail and a “bow-wow,” and he is imme
diately served just outside the door on a
mat.
Whenever Mrs. Davis drives out Traveler
accompanies her. When the phaeton is or
dered the dog immediately goes to the beach
for a bath, returning In time to join his mis
tress at the door. He trots along beside the
hair so whit* and black until it is almost dry,
he resumes his journey, passing through the
viltsges of Biloxi, Haadsboro or Misalasippi
City, as the route of his mistress may
del ermine. Despite all efforts, be occa
sionally pauses to pick a quarrel or to snap
amt bite at the dogs which he may meet in
' g. Such conduct sometimes causae
i be forcibly detained at home on the
next occasion. He seems to understand the
punishment, and for weeks afterwards does
not repeat the offense. He trots lelsarerly
over the sands with a peace-abiding air,
looking neither to the right nor the left,
treating with, silent contempt all demonstra
tions of hia old enemies. Time passes, and
bis good resolutions fade—forgetting hts
former obligations, heauffen his irate pas
sions 10 swell. With a growl he aprinn upon
the offenders, and bat for timely Interference
he woald deal summarily with the whim
pering brutes.
At night Traveler sleeps onarngatthe
door, the guardian of the threshold.
Traveler was the property of Mrs. Davis's
son,who tell a victim of yellow fever in Mem
phis, Tenn., in 1878. His young master wss
very much attached to the dog, and had
ilaced him in the care of Mrs. Dotsay at
leauvoir She waa also Tory fond of turn.
Ot course the family have a tender attach
ment for him.
It may be true that animals have no sonl,
but an acquaintance with some of them dis
credits tlie statement. Traveler’s large,black,
Intelligent eyes seem full of sonl, tnd his
very action Unguarded rather by reason than
ihy Instinct
” Between the dog and Ned, the hone, there
exists an affectionate regard. Lazy Ned, aa
he is familiarly called, trots more briskly
when in Traveler's company. If the dog is
left behind, the horse will torn his bead tn
the dirtetion of hts cries, and he can oily be
urged forward by (he whip.
Among other pleasant reooUsctioxa of
Bsanvoir la the sweet, sad face of Martha,
Mrs. Davis’ attendant For years sbe has
been with her. She lost her two brothers,
they were her all, in the Confederate army.
She united her fortunes to those of her gen
erous-hearted friends, and is truly appreciat
ed by the family. , ,
Mr. Davis has now bat two children, both
daughters. Margaret or Maggie is married
. to Adtson Hayes, of Memphis, and is the
mother of two little girls. Varina or Win
nie is still of her father’s household. The
leading charm at Besnvior, sbe Is accom
plished and affectionate, and her presence ts
to her parents a “well-spring of joy.” Upon
her, by bequest, Mrs. Dorsay entailed a por
tion of her estate.
Mrs. Davis's maiden name was Varina
Howell. She was one of the oldest and moat
honorable families of Mississippi. A noble spe
cimen of the southern woman, sbe Is far
above the average both personally and men
tally.
Like Mary and Martha Washington, Mrs.
Davis has united the gentle, loving mother,
with domestic virtues, to grander womanly
qualities.
Whether at the national capital, bearing
tlie honors of the wife of the secretary of
war, and latter, listening to the loud acclama
tions that greeted his election to the United
States senate, or at Briarfield, as
the mother and mistress of the household,
we find the same type of nobio womanhood.
In prosperity as in adversity, whether the
consort of the president of the confederacy,
or the wife of the exile of Beauvoir, the
same grand nature pervades her life. Still
moving forward with au undaunted spirit—
which sustained her in so many hours of trial,
which supported her amid the clanking
chains at Fortress Monroe, sbe clings fondly
and untiringly to her husband in his declin
ing years. The friend, wife and companion,
she is all to him now in his quiet house.
A native of Kentucky, Mr. Davis was reared
in Mississippi. For.bis home hisattacbment
is unbounded. He firmly put aside ail temp
tations to live abroad and cast his lot on the
Gulf coast of his much-loved state. The heart
of her history is his, and it will remain faith
ful through coming years. Time has not bent
his proud form, nor age dimmed bis wonder
ful mind, though nearly four-score years
are his. His life is blessed with the love
of all who know him. Among his ac
quaintances there are no cavilers. It is only
those who do not know him who misunder
stand and misrepresent him. He has no in
terest in politics. He desires none. He is
not even a citizen of the country, in the ser
vice of which the best years of his life were
spent. Hedesires nothing more than to live
quietly among his own people, and to feel
that in death, as in life, he is ever dear to
them.
Beauvoir Is to him a sacred place,beautiful,
heart-satisfying and real.
There 1* a harmony In the sobbing breezes
os they move soughing through the plumes
of the pines that tower above. Melodious
strains, low and sweet, linger faintly lathe
soft evening air. The clamor of the seas, a
a trifle louder, soon follows In rhymtbs, like
the distant notes of the bass viol, whose bow
is held by an unseen hand. Now and then a
chord Is lost, or a note broken, and a thou
sand quivering chimes are beard in the dis
tance, growing lower, lower, until silence
reigns supreme. S. M. R.
ODD THINGS ABOUT BIRDS AND BEASTS.
WHY THI YOUNG OAKS WrmgBlD.
From tho Page, V*., News.
As a couple of gentlemen were tiding down the
Roanoke valley, Va., recently they saw a huge
green-colored snake writhing and twisting at the
foot ots beech tres; Going closer they discovered.
It to be one ot tho horned epcclee of the hoop snake.
It had formed Itself Into a hoop by taking ltz tall
lu Its month tnd rolled down file bill tn pursuit of
a rabbit or otber small game. So great had come
Its velocity that ltcoutd not gptde itself, and lthad
struck the tree with such force aa to drive Its bora
nto the solid wood to the depth ot an Inch or more,
raiding It tight and fut. There arc a great many
known to wither wllhtn au t
THEY All KNEW HOW. .
From the Portland, Me., Press
I took a large eplder f(om hts web under the
basement of a mill, put him on a chip and set
him afloat on tho quiet waten at the pond. He
walked all about tho sides ot his bark, surveying
the situation very carefully, and when tho fact
that he was really afloat and about a yard from
•boro seemed to be fully comprehended, he pros
pected for the nearest point ot land. This point
fairly settled upon, he Immediately btgan to cut
a web for It.
tho air and with tho wlod.
It eooo reached the
ho turned himself about and In true sailor fashion
began to haul fo hand over hand on hie cable.
Caretolly ho drew upon It unfit hts bark began to
move towards the shore. As It moved tho faster he
the futer drew upon It to keep his hawser taut and
trom touching the water. Very non he reached
the shore, aod quickly leaping to terra Grata ho
sped his way homeward. Thinking then lhat he
might bo a special expert and an exeeptiou lu that
fine of boatmaushlp to tho rest ot his companions,
1 tried several ot them, and they all came uhore
to like manner.
BRUIN Alia FISHERMAN. I
From the Lewiston, Me., JournaL
I came suddenly upon a very largo bear In a
thick swamp, lying upon a Urge hollow log aero*
brook Ashing, and ho wu so much Interested In
It sport that he did not notice me until I had ap
proached very our to him, so that I could eee ex
actly how he halted hU hook and played hla fish.
He fished In this wise: There wu a Urge hole
through the log on which he Uy, and he tbrnet
hie forurm through the hole and held hlv
open paw in tho water and waited for
the fish to gather around and Into It, aod,
when full, ho clutched hU fist and brought up a
handful o! Gib, and sat and eat them with great
~usto; then down with the paw again and lo on.
/he brook wu (airly alive with Utile trout and red-
sided suckers and some black tuckets, so the old
fellow let himself out on tho fishes. Uo did not cat
tOelr heads. There wu quite a pllo ot them on the
log. I suppose tho oil In his paw attracted the
fish and balled them even bcttci than a fly hook,
and his toe-nails wore his hooks, aod sharp ouu
too, and once grabbed, the flsh are aura to auy.
AN AHTkLOPR IN CHUSCH.
From the St. Joseph Herald.
Sunday morning a pet autetopo. supposed to be
long t* Mr. D. U. Steele, escaped from the premises
and wu usaulted by one of the numerous
cattle that are permitted to run at large
and browso about the atreeu and In
other people's front door yards. The antelope
fled for safety to Christ church, and had en
tered the vestibule, when a frightened lady bran
dished a parasol and drove It out. The lady did
not pause to question the lunocent little creature
u to the nature of its business there, or what it
wu seeking from the Gelds of heaven. She did
not volunteer the Information that It had no need
of prayer, end no sins to be forgiven. 8uch reflec
tions ere well enough In tbetr place, but in this
particular emergency the lady simply said, “Get
out of hero, yoo beut, or I’ll bust yer head.” The
address tnd the parted combined had the desired
effect. 1
Ysllsw Fever ee Ue I.tinea.
Nxw York. March 5.—Panama dates of the 24th.
nit. contain the following: Several cases ot yet*
low fever have occurred on the Isthmus Medical
mea believe It will become epidemic ou account of
“ many newly arriving unaccllmated workmen.
CAT'S-CRADLE.
'It's a crtucrea high aod it'e a crisscross fiat;
Then four Untight Hues far the puseycat;
Then criss-cross under; ah. now there'll be
1 nice deep cradle, dear grandpapa! Seel
We can have a very good door, you 1
Now over, now under, now pull It fight;
ke-uw, grandpa:-exactly right!”
.a prattled the uttle one, grandfather's pet,
A* deftly she wrought. “Seel now lu a net!
“But where did you learn cat’s-rradle so well?
She suddealy uked, and he coold not telL
He could not tell, for hU hurt wu eere.
As he gravely said, "I have played It before."
What conld the sweet little maiden know
Of buuUfnl etunmen loogego?
ot the.merry sports and the games he played
When “mamma" herself wu a little maid;
What could she know ol the thoughts that ran
Through the weary brain of the world-worn man
But aka knew, when eh* kissed him, dear grandpa
And that wu enough for the happy child.
—Mary Mtpu Dodge.